Wednesday, September 30, 2015

I'm troubled by all the backlash about Pope Francis having a conversation with Kim Davis. Why does the pope have to be perfect in every way before we give him credence? He's a human being, a saint and sinner like all of us. He does some stuff I don't like (such as supporting an exclusively male priesthood), but that doesn't make him the devil incarnate. It just means that I don't agree with him on some points. Why does the fact that the pope did something many of us don't like negate all the good he did in his visit to the US? How quickly we turn on those who don't meet our expectations. We're all in or we're all out. I don't know which is a greater problem -- the need we have to idealize people who are flawed like all the rest of us, or our propensity to attack them when they fail to meet our expectations. What's the deal? It's much like people who leave the church over one negative experience, or those who discount all of Scripture because they can't buy every word of it hook-line-and-sinker. I'm reminded of when Jesus said, "whoever isn't against us is for us", which happened to be our reading last Sunday. He didn't say whoever isn't for everything we're for is against us, which seems to be what we believe. We are quick to draw lines between ourselves and those who disagree with us. Those who don't see things our way become the enemy. Really? I encourage those who are ready to throw everything the pope did last week out with the Kim Davis bathwater, to examine why they have reacted this way? Why did you expect so much of a human being? And why has his failure to meet your expectations caused you to dismiss him completely? Can we stop drawing lines between us and them? (Them being everyone who disagrees with us.)People aren't either good or bad. The world can't be divided into friends or enemies. Life is a lot more complicated than that. I'm not here to be the hero in my little life's drama, doing battle with every evil foe I encounter. There is as much evil in me as the next person, and as much good, too. I know the same is true of Pope Francis. That's why I'm giving him a break for doing something I wish he hadn't.

Monday, September 21, 2015

When did being politically correct go out of fashion? The
words politically correct have become
the butt of jokes. In some circles, it’s considered an insult to accuse someone
of being too politically correct. What’s up with that?

Perhaps the problem is using the word politically. I know many people bristle at anything relating to the
word politics. But the thing is, most
of the people who are leading the charge against political correctness these
days are politicians. Some have made a name for themselves by deriding
political correctness. “Let’s return to the good old days when we didn’t have
to worry about being politically correct, when we were free to speak our mind”,
they’ll say to the cheering crowds. I’m not cheering. I’m disgusted.

The intent of political correctness is filtering what we say
so that others are honored and respected. And this is a bad thing, why? Because
we don’t care about running roughshod over the feelings of others? We don’t
care about how they prefer to be addressed? We don’t care about how words are
often used as weapons to keep others in their place? In short, because we don’t
care.

My recollection of the “good old days”, as a woman who grew
up in the 50s, is that it was a time when old white men did all the talking.
These days, women, people of color, the disabled, youth, immigrants, and others
have found their voice. I suspect that those who are opposed to political
correctness are really just hoping to disrespect, belittle and bully any voices
that are not their own into silence.

When political correctness is disregarded, compassion is
disregarded, as well. And perhaps just plain old human decency.

I may not always do a great job of being politically
correct, but I’m trying. Not because I care about following the latest trend,
but simply because I care.

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Preached at Holy Trinity Lutheran Church, Charlotte on September 20, 2015.I’m afraid to ask. Have you ever said that, or thought that? I’m afraid to ask. I’m afraid to ask my boss for a raise. I’m afraid to ask someone I’m attracted to on a date. I’m afraid to ask the doctor what my prognosis is. Generally speaking, being afraid to ask is motivated by one of two things.

First, you may be afraid to ask because you don’t want to appear stupid. You register for an upper level course and suspect that you may be in over your head. You arrive for the first class and the teacher starts talking about Gazibray’s Theory. All the other students in the class seem to know all about Gazibray’s Theory. You’ve never heard the word Gazibray before and you have no idea what Gazibray’s Theory is. But you’re afraid to ask because you don’t want to appear stupid.

Your new neighbors invite you to dinner. They are from Somalia and they like to practice their English with you. At dinner they serve you a very strange looking dish, the likes of which you have never seen in your life. You don’t know if you’ll be able to eat it, but they’re such lovely people, so you cautiously take your first bite. It actually tastes pretty good. You wonder, what am I eating? But you’re afraid to ask because you don’t want to know the answer. That’s the other big reason we can be afraid to ask. We don’t want to know the answer.

I’m afraid to ask. In today’s gospel lesson, we read that after Jesus once again laid out the way of the cross in his future, his disciples still didn’t understand. And they were afraid to ask. Was it because they didn’t want to appear stupid? Or was it because they were didn’t want to know the answer? They were afraid to ask.

Now, in all fairness to the disciples, at this point in Mark’s gospel, this is the second time Jesus has taken them aside to tell them about his upcoming suffering, death and resurrection. So, they still don’t understand, but really, it’s a lot to take in. This is not what anyone was expecting—a promised Messiah who would redeem Israel through suffering. They couldn’t get their heads around it. And that’s understandable. But the parts that’s a little harder to understand is that, given their confusion, they were afraid to ask any questions.

It may have been because they didn’t want to appear stupid. Or maybe they didn’t want to know the answer. But they were afraid to ask.

I suspect that there may be another reason going on here and that’s that they didn’t want to appear unfaithful. For when you throw religion into the mix, questions become more than simple questions for us. We often view them as a sign of faithlessness. It’s all too typical among God’s people for questions to be withheld. We pretend we don’t have questions. And yet the deepest mysteries of life can only be approached with questions. Why do good people suffer? Why are human beings so brutal with one another? Why does evil succeed? Why did God create such a messed up world? Why did Jesus have to suffer and die?

After Jesus’ disciples avoid the questions they were afraid to ask, notice what happens. They begin arguing among themselves over petty issues of rank and status. When they avoid asking hard questions, they focus on posturing about who is right.

Imagine how the story might have gone differently if the disciples had asked Jesus their questions. What kind of conversation might have resulted? How might it have strengthened the relationship they had with Jesus? But that’s not what they did. They were afraid to ask. And yet, they were not afraid to ignore what Jesus was saying and argue amongst themselves, completely missing the point.

Instead of struggling to understand the meaning of the cross and all that stuff about taking up your cross and following him and giving your life to save it, they immediately went to a scene of coming glory when they will be rewarded with power and status.

When Jesus heard them, he saw another teachable moment. He brought a child before his disciples and told them that they aren’t get what he has been telling them unless they can learn to welcome that child into their midst. A child, who was following his own curiosity, hanging around these men and their teacher, and likely disobeying his mother by doing so. A child, whose heart and mind was not yet set in concrete. A child, who was still curious. Curious about what it might mean to become a man. A child, full of questions.

Jesus might have proven his point about serving those who are at the lowest rung on the ladder in society another way. He might have talked about welcoming a woman into their midst, or a leper, or a Gentile. But he chose a child to make a point to his disciples who were afraid to ask.

It doesn’t take long for us humans to learn to be afraid to ask questions. But that fear is a learned thing for us. It doesn’t come naturally. What comes naturally is curiosity and questions. Lots of questions. Every child passes through a phase of asking question after question and driving their parents nuts. What’s that? It’s a bunny. What’s it doing? It’s eating. What’s it eating? Lettuce. What’s lettuce? It’s a vegetable. What’s a vegetable? It goes on and on.

Some of my favorite moments with children are in the questions they ask. Once when my daughter was young, she had seen way too many reruns of “I Love Lucy” and “Leave It to Beaver”, which I told her I used to watch on TV when I was a little girl, and she asked me, “Mommy, was the world black and white when you were a little girl?” It was a good question. And as I thought about it, the answer to that question is, yes. The world was black and white when I was a little girl.

Back when Henry was four years old, his mother Angela shared with me some of the questions he was asking. These are the questions a four year old boy was asking about God over the course of two days: Does God die? How is God Jesus and God at the same time? If God doesn't die, why didn't God make it so we don't die? Does God like the cold weather? Does God like pirates? Do pirates do bad things to God, too? Where does God live? Was God ever a baby? Does God love sharks? Why did God make sharks? Does God talk to us when he isn't right here?Henry alternated between calling God a he and a she. Angela wondered if maybe he was thinking of his pastor as God. He told his mother that he met God once and told her what he liked, and that God had brown hair. When his mom told him that she, too, asked God why we had to die, but that God didn't answer, he said, "Well, if you two are kind of close, maybe you could ask again and she will tell you."

That’s the kind of perspective Jesus was telling his disciples to welcome into their lives—his disciples who were too afraid to ask.

I don’t know where we get the idea that asking questions is a sign of faithlessness, but nothing could be further from the truth. We’re afraid to ask questions because we don’t want to appear stupid, or maybe because we’re afraid of the answers.

I suspect our biggest misunderstanding as people of faith is that we think questions need to have answers. And that has nothing to do with the life of faith. Faith is not about finding answers to questions. That’s knowledge. Knowledge is a good thing, but it’s not to be confused with faith. Faith is about learning to live with the questions. It’s trusting God when there are no answers.

A big part of what it means to be a loving not judging community of faith is giving people a safe place to live by faith—to ask questions, and let them live.

Here’s a poem Gerhard Frost wrote about this:

Never kill a question; it is a fragile thing. A good question deserves to live. One doesn't so much answer it as converse with it, Or, better yet, one lives with it. Great questions are the permanent and blessed guests of the mind. But the greatest questions of all are those which build bridges to the heart, addressing the whole person. No answer should be designed to kill the question. When one is too dogmatic or too sure, one shows disrespect for truth and the question that points toward it. Beyond my answer there is always more, more light waiting to break in, and waves of inexhaustible meaning ready to break against wisdom's widening shore. Wherever there is a question, LET IT LIVE!

Friday, September 4, 2015

I can’t bring myself to hate Kim Davis. I don’t agree with
her position on marriage equality, and I think she should have resigned when she
realized she could no longer do the job she was elected to do, but I don’t hate
her for that. She believed in her heart that what she was doing was right, and
she was willing to go to jail for it. I admire her for her courage, although
I agree that she belongs in jail for what she has done, or rather, for what she
has refused to do. I hate the decision she made, and I hate it that she has
hurt so many people who simply wanted to marry the one they love. But as
a human being who was just as surely created in the image of God as I was, I
can’t hate her.

If you know me at all, you know that you can usually find me
way left of center politically. And I’ve noticed, lately, that it seems like
every week we liberal/progressive types find a new person to hate--whether it’s
a police officer who kills an unarmed black kid, or a politician who says
offensive things about immigrants, or a county clerk who refuses to marry gay
couples when it's her job to do so. We seem to thrive on having someone to
hate. Because we perceive ourselves as open-minded, loving people, our hate
must be justified, so we demonize the object of our hatred as someone who is
pure evil, through and through. But folks, there is no truth in the
demonization of others. The truth is, there is evil in each of us, just as
there is good in each of us.

The demonization of Kim Davis helps otherwise kind people
rationalize the venom they spew about her. There are tweets going around that
have supposedly been sent from the person who works next to her. They are
shared as if they are proof that the woman is crazy. I’m having trouble
understanding how that might justify hating her, even if it were true. A lot of
folks have made a huge deal out of the fact that she was married four times. It’s
viewed as a sign of her hypocrisy about what constitutes a Biblical marriage,
and that may well be. But if we’re going to start hating everyone who is
hypocritical, we’d better avoid mirrors. As a person who has been divorced
twice, when I heard she had been married four times, I felt compassion for her.
No doubt, as someone who considers herself a Christian, her divorces are a
source of great shame in her life. Attacking her shame is certainly an
effective way to hurt her, if that is the goal. Those of us who have been
publicly shamed by others know that all too well.

All summer long I have been rehearsing with a local chorus
as we prepared for a concert to benefit two organizations that are working to
fight against bullying: the Tyler Clementi Foundation and Time Out Youth. Both organizations
are particularly concerned with bullying that has been, and continues to be, so
damaging to LGBT kids. It seems that everyone who is a part of the
gay/lesbian/transgender community has been a victim of bullying in some form,
and they feel strongly about it. It angers and hurts me that people
I love so dearly have to endure this; I would do anything to stop it, if I
could.

Last night, I floated home on the love that had filled the auditorium during our glorious anti-bullying concert. Then I sat down at my computer to look at
my Facebook feed ... and my heart sank as I read one hateful post after another about Kim Davis. You have to understand that I don’t get Facebook
posts from people who disagree with me. Those people are quickly unfriended. So
these posts were from my tribe: progressive Christians, liberals, LGBT folks
and their allies. As I read them, I felt sick inside because I realized that I
have often hopped aboard the hate express, too. But I can’t get on this time.
Maybe I’ve grown. Maybe spending an entire summer singing songs about bullying has
affected me. Or maybe pastoring a congregation whose motto is “Loving Not
Judging” is changing the way I think. But I just can’t bring myself to hate Kim
Davis.

I want my friends to know that I love you enough to remind
you that the solution to hate is never hate. I understand that it may feel good
at the time to lash out at those who have hurt you, but hatred never leads to
healing. It only leads to more hatred. Those of us who are so opposed to
bullying especially need to notice the blind spot we ourselves may have when it
comes to bullying others. I pray we all can step outside our own hurt just
enough so that we don’t become the very thing we hate in others. The world can
become a more loving place when we practice love with those we could so easily
hate. Jesus had a lot to say about that, and I'm convinced he was right.

About Me

Nancy is an ordained pastor of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. She serves at Ascension Lutheran Church in Towson, Maryland. Nancy grew up in Hamilton, Ohio, and then served time at Bowling Green State University, before moving on to Trinity Seminary in Columbus. Starting out in North Dakota, she then returned to Ohio and served churches there before landing in North Carolina, where she served at two different congregations in Charlotte. She was also on the bishop's staff and earned a PhD from Pitt during her spare time in the area of religion and education. She considers herself an educator who happens to be a pastor and it makes a difference in how she does ministry. She is a divorce survivor, and the mother of two artsy-fartsy children who abandoned her when they became adults. Now she shares a home with Father Guido Sarducci, her tuxedo cat.